


Thunderstruck

by beejohnlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Car Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Public Sex, john wants to come all over Sherlock's pretty clothing, pretty much just smut, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:36:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5633641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beejohnlocked/pseuds/beejohnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John plans to reward Sherlock's brilliance. Sherlock has planned something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstruck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Irrevocably_Sherlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/gifts).



> Originally published on tumblr for smut Sunday. Enjoy! My tumblr url is also beejohnlocked.

Sherlock has been particularly brilliant this evening. His rapid-fire deductions have left John breathless and subtly adjusting an inconvenient erection. 

Not that the folks at Scotland Yard are ignorant of the turn in his and Sherlock's relationship. No, everyone was made well aware of it 20 minutes after their first time. Greg had texted Sherlock about a case, and Sherlock had responded, "Busy. Sex with John."

John had wanted to be disapproving of it all, but the prospect of them finally being together and everyone knowing about it thrilled him too much to even mildly protest. Instead he had grinned, giggled, then pinned Sherlock to the bed and tickled him mercilessly. 

That was eight months ago, and John is the happiest he has ever been. It actually scares him a bit. Happy is not John's default state, and to feel actual joy day after day, week after week is a little disconcerting. John isn't complaining, mind you, but there is always a small part of him waiting for a disaster to happen. 

But tonight, God, all he wants is Sherlock's cock in his mouth. John wants to take him apart with his lips and tongue, unravel that clever brain until the only words Sherlock can muster are "yes" and "John". 

John is pulled out of his thoughts by Sherlock's hand on his elbow, dragging him toward a waiting taxi.

He allows himself to be shoved into the backseat, then turns and pulls on Sherlock's lapels, eliminating the space between them before the door is even shut behind them. 

"You were incredible," John breathes against Sherlock's lips, his voice hoarse as he nips at that plump mouth. "I'm going to reward you handsomely when we get home. Do you want that, Sherlock? Do you want me to suck your cock until you come in my mouth? Do you want me to swallow everything you have to give me?"

John watches, entranced, as the flush creeps up Sherlock's neck, blotches of color staining his face a pretty pink. He knows it's at least partly ego, but he loves how much he can affect Sherlock with only his words, how much Sherlock wants him -of all people!- all the time. 

The taxi rumbles along as John grips Sherlock's thighs. He spreads them as his hands climb higher, his thumbs coming to rest against the ridge of Sherlock's erection, already straining against his trousers. 

"John, please-" Sherlock's chokes.

"Please what?" John's eyes are glinting and his voice comes out teasing. He's loving this. "I can't get you off in the backseat of a taxi, Sherlock," John says, but simultaneously notices that the cabbie is very pointedly ignoring the backseat and has at some point adjusted his rearview mirror so that it tilts to the left, pointing away from the amorous activities in the back. 

Or maybe?....They've got a good 15 minutes until they arrive home, and John's light stroking already has Sherlock aching to come. One look at his face, eyes dark with desire, chewing his lip raw makes John's mind up for him. 

"You have to be quiet," John says as he tears at Sherlock's belt, making quick work of his button and flies.

"Yes, yesss," Sherlock hisses as he lifts his hips and allows John to wriggle his trousers down. John lowers himself to the floor of the taxi in front of Sherlock. He knows the driver isn't watching, but wants to block any view he could get regardless. 

Sherlock whimpers as John touches him through the thin layer of his pants, hips shifting helplessly upward. "Ah-! John, I-"

"Shhhh, let me take care of you, Gorgeous."

"Y-yes, b-but I know I'm not going to last," Sherlock says as he flushes with aroused humiliation. "I already feel close."

John hums approvingly as he yanks Sherlock's pants down, freeing his cock, hard as stone and leaking copious amounts of precome. "Good, then we can skip the foreplay, hmm?" John raises an eyebrow at Sherlock, gives a little smirk, and swallows him down without any preamble. 

Sherlock moans, his hands settling into John's hair, gripping but not pulling, holding himself back from thrusting into John's mouth. And John isn't having it. He wants Sherlock to lose control. He wants Sherlock unable to stop himself. He wants Sherlock to use him for his own pleasure. Mostly, he just wants Sherlock, panting and moaning beneath him, biting his own hand to keep from screaming, shaking from the force of his orgasm. 

John places his own hand over one of Sherlock's and uses it to push down against his own head, Sherlock's prick hitting the back of his throat, the feel of it making John and Sherlock moan together.

Sherlock's pelvis is bucking despite his best efforts, his body growing stiff, his cries growing softer and high pitched, which always signals he's close. 

John grips Sherlock with one hand and reaches behind his balls with the other, just brushing the pucker of his arsehole. 

"Christ!-" Sherlock grunts, and John feels his mouth fill with shot after shot of Sherlock's release, swallowing it all while he feels the shudders wracking his lover. 

Unable to help himself, John undoes his own jeans and pants and pulls furiously at his own cock, looking at Sherlock's slack face, his glazed eyes, his body still twitching with aftershocks. He comes with a gasp not 30 seconds later, painting Sherlock's trousers with stripes of it, debauching that perfect suit. Somehow that knowledge makes his orgasm even more intense. John shoves himself back into his pants and collapses into the seat, throwing his arm around Sherlock, who chuckles euphorically, still in his post-climactic high. 

Moments later, they pull outside of 221B. Giggling like schoolboys, they both throw enough money at the cabbie to make him forgive any cleaning the backseat may need. They walk to the door, arms thrown round each other and aglow with joy. 

"You know, you stole my thunder," Sherlock says while John searches his jacket for the keys. 

"Oh?" John smiles wickedly at Sherlock. "Were you planning to give me a blow job on the way home, too?" 

"No. I was planning on this." Sherlock is pulling a small box from his coat and dropping to one knee.

John's heart is suddenly in his throat and beating a hundred miles an hour. He's going to faint. Is he going to faint? It's only been eight months! That's soon. Is that soon? Though...this has been the best eight months of John's life. And he's already known for over 6 years that he doesn't want to spend his life without Sherlock, so this really isn't a sudden thing. Also, Sherlock isn't a murderous psychopath like John's former wife. And why is he even thinking anymore? Sherlock is talking to him. Mouthing something. Saying words but with the rushing in John's ears, he can't make them out. 

"Sorry, what?" Smooth John. Really smooth. 

Sherlock looks at him quizzically, but smiles nonetheless as he rolls his eyes and takes a breath to repeat himself. "I said, I love you John. I've always loved you. I always will love you. And I want to make it official. Marry me?"

"Okay yes. Yes. Yes." John laughs and lifts Sherlock to his feet. "You madman, of course I'll marry you." John kisses Sherlock firmly once, twice, three times, and he wraps his arms around Sherlock's waist. The joy in the other man's face is undeniable. He gets these crinkles all over, like a bulldog, only prettier. Sherlock's face is in full bulldog mode right now. God, John is thinking crazy. Did Sherlock slip him something? Is this what being completely happy is? He doesn't know and he doesn't care. This is right. He kisses Sherlock again, who's eyes have predictably begun shine with unshed tears. It's fine. It's all fine.


End file.
